


Comfort Zones

by AwesomePossum



Series: Guilded Days: A Bard of Ravnica [3]
Category: Magic: The Gathering (Card Game)
Genre: Adorkable, Concerts, F/M, Meet-Cute, Musical Instruments, Ravnica (Magic: The Gathering), Selesnya Conclave, classical music snobbery, music magic, shy musicians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:08:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26914147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwesomePossum/pseuds/AwesomePossum
Summary: Yenna has her first performance away from the Selesnya Conclave, and stage fright abounds. Fortunately, she meets a new a friends who helps her though. Sweet and derpy.
Relationships: OMC/OFC
Series: Guilded Days: A Bard of Ravnica [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1963186
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1
Collections: Guilded Days: A Bard of Ravnica





	Comfort Zones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gamb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gamb/gifts).



The sunlight peppered down on the area behind the outdoor stage, filtering through the canopy of leaves before melting onto the cloth stretched overhead to shelter the performers. Out front, the long benches, made from stone and carefully guided tree roots, were beginning to fill with people as fairgoers made their way to watch the performances. This afternoon’s show was for first-time performers to the fair, and was considered a showcase of up-and-coming musicians. Ravnica’s debut talent.

Behind the cloth barriers and stone walls that separated performers and audience, Yenna rubbed her palms surreptitiously on her hips where skin blended into velvety fur. She had been performing in some manner since she was seven, but even after fourteen years of it there was always a certain nervousness beforehand. Oh, not when she was performing for her vernadi or the neighboring ones; they were friends, or friends of friends. It was nothing to sit with them in the glades or around the fire in the evening and share music with them. It wasn’t so much a performance then; they might listen quietly for a certain song or another, if they enjoyed her presentation, but just as often she would simply play along as everyone sang and danced, enclaves joined together in the music of the Selesnya. But a  _ performance _ …

Her mouth was dry; Yenna took the waterskin off her belt and sipped at it, trying to let the water trickle slowly down her throat like rain falling on dry earth. She knew she would be fine once she was actually playing--now grown, her creche-mates had been known to say that she was better at expressing herself through music than conversation. They were joking, but she secretly sort of agreed with them. When she played, everything made sense, and she felt like her heart, her soul, could speak directly through song. It was a freeing, sublime experience--not as tricky as conversation, where words frequently came out wrong just to thwart her. No, as soon as she struck the first note, everything would be alright. But until then, her nerves were running wild. Because again...a  _ performance _ . 

A performance meant the weight of representing her vernadi, her guild. A performance meant someone was watching, really watching, with expectations that she needed to meet. A performance meant evaluation. Critique. Judgement. 

Plenty to worry about.

Yenna forced herself to take slow, deep breaths, quieting her mind and pushing the background noises down. Tuning her ears--although she knew it wasn’t a physical sound, exactly, the act of moving her ears helped her focus--she listened for the ever-present voice of the worldsong. It was there, of course; it was always there, underneath the hum of conversation and movement and everyday life. It existed between other sounds, or under them, or over them...it was hard to describe accurately, but Yenna always picked up the worldsong by listening sort of  _ sideways _ . She had never been as fully submerged in the song as that first time in the leshy’s pond--probably because she had never again come so close to death, which was certainly for the best--but it was always there, varying in strength and tone from place to place but always with her. Hearing it now calmed her, a little bit at least, and she tried to keep the background noises at bay and sink into its comforting rhythms, matching her breath to the song.

She was used to feeling a little worked up before a performance, but this occasion was much more nerve-wracking than usual. She had played for moderately important personages within the guild, dryad vodas at meets, and even Hierarchs and Ledev Guardians at larger Selesnyan gatherings. But at least they were Selesnyan, people she could understand, whose mindset was familiar to her. They sought harmony and community, peaceably took their best place in the world as wardens or archers or priests, as she had found her calling in the community as a bard. They understood.

Today was different. Today, the audience was different.

She pulled the stage curtain aside just enough to peek out at the assembled crowd, her large ears swiveling forward and scooping up the noise of the crowd in spite of herself. The people here were dressed in a riot of colors, not just Selesnyan green-and-white emblems; they were wearing signifiers from guilds across the city and many sporting no guild markers at all. The Sumala Fair drew an audience from all over Ravnica, representing most of the guilds and unguilded alike. A huge swell of people with unfamiliar clothes, unfamiliar speech patterns, unfamiliar body language, even unfamiliar smells. In the crowd she saw a group of Boros, not wearing their duty armor but still clad in brilliant red-white tabards, much too full of bravado and boisterousness as they gave each other hearty shoves and joked loudly before the show. 

Yenna had never performed for such a mixed crowd before. There had been guests at her other recitals on occasion, but always by the invite of their Selesnyan hosts, and accordingly-behaved. And although Sumala Park was under her guild’s purview, with the fair in full swing it was so overrun by the milieu of strangers that it felt practically alien, offering little of its familiar comfort. She longed for the quiet solitude of the leshy’s pond, or the shade of her favorite glade near her hometree, and the gentle, comforting closeness of her people...

She looked back at the three Boros just as the female minotaur gave her human companion a playful slap that Yenna was sure would have taken the wind out of her. She gulped and let the curtain fall. Her ears lay back against her head like a rabbit’s, and despite the drink of water, her mouth once again felt cottony.

“Hey.”

Yenna whipped around at the sound of the voice, startled out of her consuming thoughts. Standing next to her was a young man, maybe just a bit older than her. He was clean-shaven with dark hair and dark eyes, and high cheekbones that spoke to elven lineage at some point in the past. At a full head shorter than her, she thought he was about average height for a human, although all humans were shorter than her so she struggled with the fine distinction. He was looking up at her, concern evident on his boyish face. When she met his eyes, she caught a whisper of aftersound from the worldsong, the sound of waves lapping at stone, of turning pages of parchment, of shadows in quiet rooms. And the faintest hint of new leaves reaching up toward starlight...

“Are you alright?”

Yenna blinked back to reality. She realized that she hadn’t responded to him at all, just froze like a deer stumbling on a hunter’s fire. She forced herself to swallow against the brick of anxiety wedged in her throat. “Oh, yes,” she answered with as little confidence as she felt, forcing her ears to take a more casual upright position. “I’m fine...I must have just drifted off for a minute.” 

She tried to give a light, breezy laugh, but the increased worry on his face told her that it was unconvincing at best. She thought about making some excuse to step aside and leave the conversation, but… Yenna pursed her lips. Usually she had someone to talk to before a show, guildmates or members of her vernadi. Talking with them helped her stay calm; with no one here, she knew was getting too deep in her own head. And besides, this human had such a gentle, earnest expression, and right now she felt drawn to any hint of a friendly face. 

She dropped her gaze, wrapping her arms around herself, and allowed her ears to drift back against her head where they desperately wanted to be. “Um…” She sighed. “That’s a lie. I-” She glanced out at the crowd, then shifted back on her hooves. “I’m a little nervous. Actually, a lot nervous. Actually I think I might be freaking out a bit.”

“Oh,” he said, clearly a little taken aback by the forthright information. “Okay, I-”

“I’m sorry,” Yenna blurted, unable to stop herself, “I didn’t mean to just drop that on you. I...I just babble when I’m uncomfortable, and I’m  _ really _ uncomfortable right now and, wow, there I go again. I really am so sorry about this, I just-”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” he said, holding up his hands. Yenna snapped her mouth shut against the torrent of words, dropping her head into her shoulders. She looked at her hands, fingers clasping and unclasping, and felt herself blush hot enough that she knew it was visible, even under her umber skin. She wished she could disappear.  _ Mat’Selesnya, the poor man definitely didn’t ask for this. He probably thinks I’m insane - I’m going to look away and he’s going to make a run for it. _

_ I wouldn’t blame him. _

“Sorry,” she mumbled lamely.

“Hey, don’t do that,” he said firmly. She looked up at him, and he shook his head. “Don’t apologize. Everyone gets nervous before a show sometimes; it’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“But do they all just dump out everything in their head on top of a stranger?” she muttered.

“Not all of them,” he said, with a hint of a smile. “But there’s something to be said for being memorable, right?”

It was dumb. But either in spite of that or because of it, it made her laugh. Which made her snort a little. Embarrassed, she covered her face with her hand--her laugh had always made her feel awkward, and she glanced at him to see his reaction. To her surprise, he was smiling for real. It was a small, sort of shy smile, but she was startled at how much it changed his face. His resting expression has a kind of dolefulness to it, but when he smiled it seemed to be a  _ shift _ , like the sun coming out after a rain. Behind her hand, she smiled back.

“I’m Yenna,” she said, holding out her other hand. He took it. 

“Aster. Aster Kovacs.” His grip was gentle, but his hands were strong, and she could feel musician’s calluses on his fingers and palm. Glancing over his shoulder, she saw the head of a stringed instrument of some sort, tuning pegs glinting even in the shade. Another performer.

“Nice to meet you.” She glanced toward the assembled fairgoers. “And thanks for the support.”

“Of course.” He followed her gaze to the sea of people, swelling with newcomers as showtime approached. The noise was a steady rumble now. “Is this your first show?”

She ran her hand down one of her braids, fiddling with the cloud-like pom of kinky hair at the end. “Sort of. It’s my first public show--usually I just perform for the Conclave.”

“Mmm,” he said, a noise of understanding. “Selesnyan?”

She nodded. “Yeah. You?”

“Oh, no, I’m not in a guild,” he said, shaking his head.

“I…that’s...um” Yenna’s ears swept to the sides as she tried to figure out what to say. Her guild were her family, her home, her life’s pursuit--she had no idea how to answer someone who didn’t have one. Condolences? No, that couldn’t possibly be right…

Aster made a wry expression. “You don’t actually have to respond to that, you know. It’s okay.”

“Oh good,” she said, heaving a sigh of relief. Then she realized how that probably sounded. And glanced back at Aster, who, sure enough, was looking at her with raised eyebrows. She thought he was amused, but it could have been offended. Or impressed at how badly she was screwing up this interaction.  _ Probably that last one.  _ Yenna groaned and dropped her head into her hands, her blush of shame burning her skin like the summer sun. 

“I am so sorry,” she said, her voice muffled into her palms as her fingers clapped over her eyes, as if they could block some of her embarrassment. They didn’t, but they did stop her from seeing his reaction. “I am usually not this much of a mess, I swear.” She peeked out at him through her fingers. Surprisingly, he seemed to find the whole thing...funny? Even more surprising, he didn’t act like he was mocking her, more that he found some kind of pleasant humor in the whole thing. She lowered her hands a little, peeping over her fingertips as she continued covering the bottom half of her face, her words echoing against her cupped palms. “It’s just that I’ve never done...well, anything, I guess. Apart from the guild I mean.”

He was looking at her with mild incredulity. “You haven’t?” he said, with a tinge of surprise. She didn’t trust herself to start talking again, so she just shook her head, hands still pressed to her lips. “You’ve just spent your whole life inside your vernadi?”

“Mostly, yes. I mean, I attend the fairs sometimes, and I go with the healers to some of the charity stations, but...more or less.” she said. Then: “Hey! You know what a vernadi is?” She hurried on to explain, not wanting to give the impression she’d thought he was stupid. “I mean, most people don’t outside of the Selesnya--when I’ve gone out with the guild healers, we usually just say ‘community’ or something like it because no one ever knows the word. I think only the Evangels really use it with people who aren’t Conclave…”

He shrugged, his shy smile hinting at a return. “My grandmother was Selesnya.” He tapped an ear, slightly more pointed at the tip than a human’s would be. “Elven. I picked up some basics through the family stories.”

“That makes sense,” she said with a nod, finally trusting herself enough to take her hands away from her mouth. “It was just a surprise to hear from someone who isn’t…” She trailed off. Inwardly, she wondered what had led to his family leaving the guild. She couldn’t imagine walking away from the Selesnya, even over the course of generations; such a thing would be traumatic-

_ You’re not being fair,  _ she told herself sharply, trying to be open-minded.  _ That’s what you would do, how you feel; it’s not fair to drape that over everyone else’s experience. He’s not Selesnyan, but he seems perfectly normal. And he was nice enough to come over and ask after you... then all you can think is to make it some sort of weird guild/unguilded thing. Not a good impulse.  _

Besides--she was supposed to be out here gaining some experience. True, when her voda Loreena had said so, she almost certainly meant experience as a musician...but then, what was wrong with a little life experience as well? She looked at Aster. He was watching her patiently, clearly allowing her some space to muddle through things. In some way she couldn’t place, his expression felt kind.

Yenna made a decision, and took a deep breath.

“Okay--would you be willing to let me just start over?”

He pulled a solemn face - she noted he was very good at it, his dark eyes and naturally forlorn face reminding her of a particularly serious dog - but there was unmistakable amusement underneath. He held out his hand. “I’m Aster.”

She took it. “I’m Yenna. And you’re catching me on a very strange day--maybe not my best--but it really is nice to meet you. And...thank you.” He made a questioning frown, and she looked down, demure. “For coming over to me. It was thoughtful of you.”

“Oh. Of course,” he said generously.

Yenna gave a little chuckle, the sound of tension releasing. “Sorry I made it weird.”

“It wasn’t weird.” She raised an eyebrow accusingly-- _ come on, now-- _ and he looked sheepish. “Well, maybe a little. But not in a bad way.”

“You don’t think so?”

He shook his head, affable. “No. In a fun way, I think.”

“Really?” Her ears swept up, strangely pleased.

“Really. And besides, you’re less nervous now, right?”

Yenna frowned, taking stock of herself. “I--huh. Actually, I  _ do _ feel better now.”

He smiled. “Good. You’re going to do great, I can tell.” He turned his head a little, listening. “Hey, I’m third on stage; I have to go get ready. Um…” He seemed as if he wanted to say something more.

“Will I see you after the show?” Yenna prompted hopefully.

“Sure,” he said, his face brightening. “I mean, I’d like that.”

“Me too.” He turned to go around the rear of the stage. “Oh,” she called after him, suddenly remembering herself. “Good luck with your performance!”

“Same!” he called back as he broke into a jog.

As his back disappeared around the back of the stage, Yenna checked the setlist and realized she should get herself into line as well. She frowned a little as she read the names--she was two performers behind Aster, which meant she would be back in the wings where she wouldn’t be able to see him play.  _ No matter,  _ she thought, flicking her large ears.  _ As long as I can listen.  _ Mollified, she trotted over to the line of musicians that circled the back of the stage. A few pairs or trios clustered together and chatted, mostly those who would be on stage together. Many of the others had made solitary spaces for themselves, mentally preparing for their shows as they tuned their instruments or quietly warmed up. 

Even backstage, Yenna felt the hush fall over the crowd. They all did; the chatter and jumbled background of scales and arpeggios fading into expectant silence. A strange feeling suffused her limbs, a combination of numbness and tingling that streamed out of her chest and filled every part of her. It was how she always felt before she played for a crowd. In a way she was glad--the familiar sensation made her feel more comfortable, gave her a sense that this show really wasn’t so different than any other she had done. She could hear the footsteps as the first person took the stage, greeted by a smattering of applause and then quiet expectation. Then the first notes--the bright, clear tones of a flute. 

And the show began.

Yenna sank down into her own mind as other performers took the stage, rehearsing the notes and patterns in her head, going over her last-minute points:  _ remember to hold here for an extra beat before the key change, watch your fingering on the coda, don’t grip too heavily on the slide…  _ She already knew all of it, memory stored deep inside her hands and wrists and the long lines of muscle in her forearms. Going over her piece was just routine, a calming ritual. Lost in thought, she was only half paying attention to the first two musicians, who seemed to do just fine. However, she stopped her cycling mental recitations after the second performer left and a patter of applause announced that the third had taken the stage.

Her voda Loreena had always taught her that for a musician, their music was the voice of their soul--it eliminated the foibles and missteps and awkwardness of conversation and spoke from the essence of one person to another. That line of thinking was one of the reasons Yenna had always felt a filial kinship with the dryad, and she agreed completely. Listen closely to someone’s music, and you could hear their true self. 

Letting her mind go clear, she closed her eyes and focused her ears, and  _ listened _ . 

Yenna felt the worldsong thrumming on all sides of her; slipping into an almost meditative trance, she welcomed it to join her, to weave together with the song. It had been nearly a decade since her immersion in the worldsong at the leshy’s pool, and in that time she had found that one of her greatest joys was to listen to music while in communion with the great harmonies of Ravnica. Her own songs, the songs of others, it didn’t matter. Virtuoso or small child playing with her first reed pipe--any music would unfold new depths when she allowed herself to hear the worldsong weaving with it, revealing a hidden heart living deep inside the melodies. She had always felt that it was partly the song, partly the performer, partly Ravnica...it might even have been partly her. Everything was one in the worldsong, unique but shared like threads in a tapestry. She rarely submerged herself this way at an event where she had yet to perform; after such a deep plunge it could take her time to reemerge, and she generally tried to keep her mind clear. But...

Aster was interesting. Someone from outside the shape of her experience. Something new. And she was suddenly filled with curiosity about the truths she might find in his music. So she opened her ears, and whatever sense it was beyond her ears that allowed her to listen sideways--perhaps her mind’s ears, like a mind’s eye but for sound. Why not?--and let the song beneath reality ride up through the opening strains of music from the stage, let it wash over her, let it fill her. In a partial trance now, her head full of sound that was more than sound, she couldn’t see or move. She didn’t need to.

Yenna let her eyes fall shut and took a deep breath, feeling the sound of Aster doing the same through walls and wood and curtains. Before the first real sound was struck, she heard the song begin.

Quiet. Then the warm hum of the first touch of bow to strings. Slow and seductive at first, long drawn out notes, enticements, pulling listeners in toward the song in a steady ascension to a high, clear tone like a golden spotlight. Then a rapid downward run like water tumbling over rocks into a pool of more long, continuous notes. And then, back and forth, up and down like the swinging movements of a dancer, starting from a slow pace but then quickening, faster and faster into a whirl until she could hear bowstrings fraying with the heat of the tune. Rhythmic clapping from the audience as they joined in, pulled forward into the siren dance, feet reverberating on the ground. Escalating, climbing in racing, tightening circles up to a frenzied crescendo, notes coming so fast that they blurred together into a single, delirious howl. Then a shaft of silence like a moonbeam. A set of notes descending, whirling and twisting slowly down like falling leaves. A slow, fading of vibrato like the last light of the sun. Silence except for the steady pulse of his heartbeat.

Then a roar of applause. Enveloped in the worldsong, the sudden rush--the sound of joy and elation and visceral excitement--was almost overwhelming, and Yenna felt herself being washed back from the tidal wave of fervor, pressured up and out of her meditative state like driftwood being pushed out of the ocean and up onto shore. She let it happen, allowed herself to surface and the notes of the worldsong to slowly drain out of her. In the lingering worldsong she heard Aster bow, heard some people rise to their feet in appreciation. 

The sound of shared gratefulness between performer and audience was warming in her chest. While the clinging wisps of the worldsong made her feel the tiniest bit unreal, she was unwaveringly certain it had been worth it. For one thing, her fear of performing here outside the Conclave was nearly gone. The crowd of fairgoers might have seemed riotous and strange to her, but hearing their voice in the worldsong showed her the truth, that they were also festive and excited and ready to lose themselves in the music. They didn’t have the composure of Selesnyans, but they made up for it in enthusiasm and demonstrative engagement, and while they might be living lives that were foreign to her, she knew, felt without a doubt, that she would be able to meet them in her music.

For another thing, she was truly glad she had agreed to meet up with Aster afterwards. He seemed so reserved, all somber face and soulful dark eyes, but his music said otherwise. Underneath there was something lively and longing, and it made her want to get to know him better.  _ Is it this easy to make friends with a complete stranger?  _ She thought maybe it was--and while the idea would have been a bit much for her only an hour ago, when the world was filled with strangers and all she could think about was how far she was from her grove, now it seemed less intimidating somehow. More pleasant. 

Calmer now and not thundering in panic, her heart buoyed a little at the thought. She had come today with the intention of playing and then leaving, retreating back to the safe enclave of the hometree. 

But maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to stop and make a new friend along the way.

**Author's Note:**

> Did I mention I also spent my formative years in choir and other competitive singing events? True facts.
> 
> I feel like "cute" is a hard tone to manage--too much and it's really saccharine and unpleasant, too little and it's super flat and lifeless. But I am a hopeless romantic, deep in my snarky cynical heart, so I wanted to try it out. And actually? I think it worked out. Hope you like it.


End file.
